Year 10, Day 190 / Gears

Seasons slowly changed, and spring turned to summer. The better weather made for easier travels, meaning Garret found himself drafted into more and more expeditions with Morgan – absences his students were thankful for. Though the summer sun dried the mud and made their marches easier, their teacher had stepped up the training to match.

Indeed, older students who'd mastered the basics, rarely received theoretical instruction, focusing instead on exhausting, practical drills. This curriculum produced many complaints from annoyed pupils, who felt they weren't reaching their full potential, but Garret had good reason for it – they had less than a year until the crusade was rumored to start… and the number of rumors were steadily increasing.

Strolling through one of Tilia's forge-districts, the hearsay was reinforced by the notably increased activity. Hisses of steam and the pounding-grinds of machinery sounded from wrought-iron buildings with ever increasing frequency, and the air, thick with smog, was starting to become difficult to breath. Last month had been quieter, and the one before that, even more so. Output was increasing.

"You pic-*CLANG* an unusual pl-*HISS* -or a stroll, Gar-*BANG*."

Her words interrupted by the sounds of machinery, Garret glanced over his shoulder to see Morgan, dressed in dull work clothes – a rarity for the noblesse. Carrying a leather-bound ledger, leaflets and reports crammed between the pages, she'd evidently been taking notes on the state of Tilian industry.

"You've really stepped-up production… but how many weapons could Tilia possibly need?"

Moving closer to be heard over the noise, Morgan glanced at her notes.

"Our nation's demands will be filled in less than a week, strategic reserves included. Armour… within the week following that. Then we'll move on to the orders from other countries."

Taking note of the crates of swords, spear-tips, and other metal instruments being ferried around by the workmen of the district, Garret nodded, impressed.

"Seems you'll have quite the stockpile."

"Indeed, though not as many as we'd like… we can always use more."

With that, le Blanc broke off their conversation and continued on, occasionally stopping to interrogate a worker about the status of their production. Having nothing better to do, Garret decided to follow.

As they walked, he noticed open spaces where soldiers tested the quality of the mass-produced weapons. Swords and spears rarely failed these checks, but when he spotted men wielding strange-looking muskets, it seemed only one-in-ten ever fired successfully. Those that did, however, produced devastating results. Arcs of lightning or explosions of blue fire, depending on the type of rifle used, incinerated whatever target stood in their way.

"Impressive weaponry… but not very reliable, is it?"

Morgan shook her head as she kept up her inspection.

"No. The machines that produce them are ancient, their workmanship, inconsistent. Only a fraction will ever fire, and the royal armory lays claim to the best managuns for their vaults. The effectiveness of the few we can deploy, though, make the expenditure worth it."

Indeed, as they walked, Garret began to spot whole crates of the firearms, marked for destruction. For their sake, he hoped Tilia was right. It seemed like a lot of effort, wasted.

"And these?"

Passing a set of boxes packed with strange, angular polyhedrons, Garret gestured to them.

"Ammunition for a specific set of cannons."

He furrowed his brow, hearing this. They certainly didn't look like anything a human cannon could fire. The prodigious amount of padding that wrapped each shell was another oddity – with it, a large case could only hold four of them.

"Are they volatile?"

"Very. If their shells rupture or they get too hot, they'll detonate. You do not want to be around when that happens."

A cascade of sparks spewed forth from a workshop's machine, spraying one of the aforementioned crates, disconcertingly. Catching his expression, Morgan was quick to reassure.

"It'll take much more intense heat or extended exposure, those sparks will not set them off. Your spells might, however, so you'd do well to check your aim if you have to fight around them."

Garret glanced at the stacks of boxes, filled and scattered around the workshop, then nodded.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Tilia's preparing for something, isn't it?"

"Perhaps, but I'm not permitted to disclose its details."

Back in her study, Garret sunk into his chair while le Blanc compiled her reports.

"It's the crusade, isn't it?"

Hearing his (correct) hypothesis, Morgan glanced up from her writing.

"I can see you're getting used to working with the aristocracy, if you've managed to sniff that secret out."

Garret waved away the compliment. It wasn't exactly deserved, after all.

"No, that honour belongs to the man who told me."

"Well then that man is very well informed. Tilia is preparing for a large-scale operation, and will be supplying the forces of many allied states. We pose to profit a great deal off this endeavor."

"If we win."

The magician nodded at his qualification, with total confidence.

"Yes, if we win. But such an operation would not have been declared lightly. Two-hundred years of wartime experience back this decision. We will not lose."

Two hundred years, eh? The mention of that specific timespan brought memories of long-dead mamono and the results of their expeditions back to his mind. He shoved the irrelevant thoughts away, but while he was on the topic of expeditions…

"Should we cease our investigations, then?"

Morgan looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying.

"We do expend a significant amount of resources on them, though I believe they are worth the effort. You are right, however, we will need to shift focus as time goes on. Tomorrow's expedition will continue as planned, as will next month's, but after that, I may call upon you less."

Garret nodded, happy he'd have more time with his students, but annoyed that they seemed no closer to solving their mystery than before.

"Have you had any luck with fixing your spell?"

"Some. I'm starting to develop a theory, but radical doesn't even begin to describe it… I need more time and more data, if I want it to be taken seriously."

A new theory? That was enough to pique Garret's interest.

"Care to share it?"

Morgan just smiled at this.

"When it's ready. For now, we should discuss tomorrow's excursion."

Day 230

And that was how things went. As expected, the two of them explored another set of ruins, gathered another set of data (as well as resources for Tilia), and repeated the process a month later. Once the expeditions were completed, though, no further ones were scheduled. As Tilia focused on its mass production, Morgan's attention was needed elsewhere, and without the frequent travels, Garret was free to focus on running his school, only assisting his patron via correspondence.

"Good evening, Garret! You've got mail!"

Correspondence like what had just arrived. Loria, ever eager to be of service, called out from above him and swooped down for a landing. The letter, another message from Lady le Blanc, was retrieved from her pouch as the cheerful harpy presented it to him.

Yesterday. When Garret checked the mail's date, he noticed it had only been written a day prior. Since it hadn't been marked 'priority', it should have taken at least a few days, maybe a week, but instead it had arrived in record time. Just like his previous letter. And the one before that. Really, anything addressed to or from him, since the spring… hmm…

"Speedy as usual, Loria. Thanks for the delivery."

"No problem, Garret!"

The monster gave an enthusiastic (if sloppy) salute, but stayed to chat for a moment about various frivolities. That too, had been a phenomenon slowly increasing over time. Garret justified it, and the various gifts they'd exchanged, as necessary evils for the sake of keeping moral (and therefore, reliable deliveries) up. Others didn't see it that way, though.

Day 231

"Mr. Fax, this is Brother Torsten. He'll be examining you, and leading the search of your lodgings for any demonic energy."

The next morning, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Commander Hale, a priest, and a squad of guards with weapons drawn. Knowing the procedure, Garret stepped outside with arms raised, granting the soldiers entry, and resigning himself to having to clean a ransacked home that afternoon.

"Go ahead, sir. I have nothing to hide."

"We shall see."

"Same time next week?"

After the sounds of his belongings being tossed about had subsided, and the troops emerged, reporting nothing unusual, Garret made his wry comment.

"Don't give me that lip, Fax. You know full well I have the authority to search houses, and do so at random."

"So random, I was chosen for the last three warrants, eh?"

"And fortunately, too. Were I to suspect anyone of treachery, I'd first pick those close to monsters. It's a happy coincidence, given your… relationship with that harpy."

His 'duty' done, the commander and his men left, boots tramping in unison as they marched away, exemplars of Order professionalism. Once they were out of earshot, Garret sighed and stepped back indoors to tidy up. Papers had been scattered everywhere, and furniture upended – the price he continued to pay for mercy, all those months ago.

Day 300

Over the next few months, said mercy would rack up a significant debt. As Loria's lodgings became increasingly well furnished, and Garret tolerated her casual conversations more and more, what distance he tried to keep between them rapidly shrunk. Though he managed to maintain the delicate balance of trust and suspicion Commander Hale had in him, the other monsters were not so cooperative.

"Loria!~ Your boyfriend is here!~"

Spotting his arrival, one of the harpy's coworkers, perched atop a roof, alerted her with that teasing voice. Before a flustered Loria could come to greet him, though, Garret answered with fire.

Immediately flicking a deathly glare towards the loud-mouth, Garret threw a blast of fire, clipping her wings, singeing her feathers with the near (albeit, intentional) miss, and forcing her to dive for cover.

"Harpy Fredrika, get your ass down here!"

When the monster meekly obeyed, Garret gave her the ass-chewing of a lifetime, threatening her, Loria, and the whole ghetto if she ever, ever made the mistake of thinking he was their friend again. Such bluffs would lose their impact if he repeated them, though, and he knew browbeating the birds only offered a temporary solution.

Damn gossips… Thinking where things could spiral from here, Garret was almost hoping the crusade would happen sooner than later. At least that would get him out of here and stop things from boiling over.

"Um… What can I do for you, Garret?"

Loria, her cheerfulness diminished by the harsh threats, hesitantly approached, and Garret held out a letter for her to take.

"Priority delivery to Lady le Blanc of Tilia. Give them the bill, they're paying for this… oh, and I need a confirmation of delivery from Lady le Blanc, herself."

His input on one of their latest theories… and probably the last for some time. Morgan's most recent message had mentioned having little time to continue working on their research, and to Garret, it felt like they were going in circles. Their current formulae were strikingly similar to those when they first began the project. Maybe it was time to finally give it up…

"Y-Yes. I can do that. Is there anything else?"

"That's all. Now get going."

His words, having softened over time, were back to their usual harshness. Under the watchful eye of the guards and the rumor mill, how could they be otherwise? Having received her orders, Loria nodded, then shuffled back to her hut to prepare for the journey, and Garret left in foul spirits. Fuck.

Day 301

The howl of winds and the rattle of windows caused Garret to look up from his cooking. Winter had seemingly come early, with a surprise storm pummeling Naton, and blanketing the country in snow. At least he wouldn't have to be going out in it. That was reserved for their unlucky city guard, who still had to make their patrols.

Stew bubbled in a pot as Garret added the final ingredients and let it simmer over the fire. The weather outside might be terrible, but a hearty meal and cozy seat at the hearth compensated for that. When he was almost finished, though, and about to sit down to eat, a knock came from the door. Rick.

Garret smiled as he guessed the visitor before he'd even seen who it was. With weather like this, the harpies wouldn't be flying, the city guard had already committed their weekly assault on his house, and his school had been released for the weekend. Who else could it be besides the man who made a habit of mysteriously appearing at the strangest times?

"G-G-Garret, y-y-you've got mail."

"Loria!?"

Flinging open the door, Garret was astonished to see the messenger bird there. Teeth chattering, feathers coated in ice, and exposed skin showing signs of frostbite, she'd completed her delivery… but at what cost?

"What are you do- Shit, no, come in, come in! We've gotta get you dried off and warmed up."

Garret grabbed her wrist, rather than the satchel she held out, and practically dragged her through the door. Brushing aside his reservations, he set her down in front of the fire and began rummaging for blankets. It was fine. A little sympathy wouldn't kill anyone. He could make an exception to help a monster. Just this once.

"What were you thinking, flying through that blizzard? A delivery confirmation can wait a day, you know!"

When he handed over the cloth, allowing Loria to brush the ice crystals out of her feathers, she tilted her abashed gaze downwards.

"I just… wanted to help you."

Garret paused as he heard that, glancing from her, to the symbol of The Order, mounted above his fireplace.

"Yeah, well… don't."

Once she'd dried herself, Garret handed Loria a fresh blanket to bundle up in, soon followed by a bowl of simple stew. A master chef, Garret was not, but for someone on the brink of hypothermia, any warm meal would do wonders. Once she was settled, he grabbed his own bowl and took a seat beside her.

"It's good."

"It's army food."

"At least there're spices in it."

"You don't spice your stews?"

"No, we… can't really buy any…"

Hearing that, Garret glanced out the window, towards the guard headquarters, partially obscured by the freezing blizzard. What good was restricting the flow of spices doing?

"I see… I'll get you some."

Hearing this, Loria perked up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be a problem."

After that exchange, they fell silent for a moment, slowly picking away at their respective dishes. Occasionally, Loria would shift, stretching or rubbing her cold-afflicted skin. With each movement, though, he could have sworn she was inching closer.

"This is why I wanted to pay you back, Garret… You've been doing so much to help me."

"Stop that."

Countering the praise, Garret refused to accept the compliment.

"I haven't done anything special, I just refuse pointless cruelty. You're working for The Order, at least for now. Throwing you in a ghetto with shitty bedding, shitty food, and shitty lodgings serves no purpose."

"It's better than what the other soldiers do…"

"But still a long way off from being noteworthy. I'm not a good person, Loria, I'm just trying to not be as callous as I could have been."

Another rustle of feathers, another inch closer. As Garret stared into the flames, he felt a warmth as Loria's head came to rest on his shoulder.

That was dangerous. Too close. He needed to make some space, both physically and emotionally.

… But maybe it was ok, for now. Just this once.

Fuck, how long had it been? The last time he'd felt this, was when he and Annika had been working together. The loneliness threatened to well up, but Garret buried it deep inside. He was not going to be using a monster as a surrogate partner. That would be an unimaginable betrayal of Annika's memory, their love, and his own beliefs.

Garret glanced down at the pitiable harpy who'd flown through hell, trying to speed his letter along, just a little faster. For his own sake, he could not accept this… but for her sake, maybe he could tolerate it for a while longer.

"… You know there's no happy ending here, right? You shouldn't get attached to me."

In response, Loria closed her eyes and rested a little heavier upon him.

"I know, but… just for tonight, can I stay like this?"

Again, glancing at the frozen fortification that rose above the settlement, Garret sighed. He knew the answer he should give… but with the guards a long ways off, and the priests, hunkered down in their church, no one would know if he said otherwise.

"Fine. Just for tonight."

Day 350

Seigfried's Landing hadn't changed much since Garret had been there last. Though he was loath to revisit the settlement where his partner had met her untimely demise, circumstances had conspired to make that inevitable. With a cheerful greeting, Loria had delivered a set of orders a week ago, signed by none other than the Valkyrie of his last crusade. And you did not disobey a Valkyrie.

Unfortunately, without the backing of a royal house, this journey required him to ride with one of the convoys that traveled between the cities. That lead to a much longer and less comfortable journey than he'd become accustomed to, but at least he didn't have to march.

After a week's worth of travel, the caravan crested a final hill, granting them a view of snow-covered fields, bathed gold in the setting sun. In contrast to the frigid waves of the ice-filled sea, or the wind-swept, frozen farmlands, the welcoming warmth of the settlement's lanterns and illuminated windows beckoned them in. They'd finally arrived.

"Thank you for joining us so quickly, Mr. Fax."

Greeting him in the meeting room, well lit by candles, Brynhild motioned for Garret to take a seat while she shut and locked the double-doors. Finding a spot opposite to her hero at the large map table, Garret quickly saluted before sitting down.

"Not a problem, Ma'am."

Glancing down at the surface, he noted the expansive chart, detailing the extent of The Order's nations, as well as what information they could gather about the demon realm. Oceans, islands, mountains, and forests were all marked here, seemingly with an impeccable level of precision, and at different points on the land, Garret spotted markers denoting the positions of armies and operations. Most of them seemed to be heading towards coastal cities.

"How have you been, Mr. Fax? It's been years."

Garret nodded, appreciating Lukas' inquiry.

"I've been well, sir. My school, also."

"That's good. I'm glad… though I hear Tilia has been keeping you busy."

Garret half-smiled, knowing how at the start, being 'kept busy' was an understatement.

"Yes, sir. I've been helping them with a lot of expeditions and research. My school, too, though I negotiated them out of the more recent trips."

"Is it anything that would help our crusade?"

"Not immediately."

"Then you should drop it. You shouldn't be wasting time when a war is on, and Tilia should know better than to expend mages, chasing trivialities."

Returning from the door, Brynhild gave her thoughts on the matter, with her usual directness. As she passed behind Lukas, she gently touched his shoulder, if only for a moment, then sat down and inched her seat closer to him.

"It's already been dropped. We hit a dead end, and Lady le Blanc shifted priorities elsewhere."

"Good. But you should still remind Lady le Blanc of what I said, if she tries to order you out again."

"I'll keep that in mind, Ma'am."

The conversation paused as Brynhild passed some papers to Lukas who, after briefly leafing through them, moved a few pieces on the map table. It seemed their meeting had been double-booked with administration.

"Regarding your presence here, Mr. Fax… I assume, judging by your school's sudden shift to a more practical curriculum, you've heard the rumors that another crusade is being planned?"

Hearing that the hero knew about both his errands, and the operations of his school, caused Garret's eyes to narrow.

"Seems like you've been keeping an eye on me, Sir."

"Yes, though Brynhild assures me it's for nothing. Everything might seem alright, but I can't shake my feelings of concern. Especially after… what happened."

They both knew what he was referring to, and Garret countered the man's worries with his usual insistence.

"I'm fine, Sir. It's been years."

"Indeed it has…"

Lukas studied him for a time, then shrugged and got back to work.

"If you have no objections, we have new orders for you. You were right about an upcoming crusade. In it, you'll be tasked with commanding a unit of mages. To facilitate this, you're to move your school to Seigfreid's Landing, and work to integrate them with the regulars as they arrive."

Taken aback by the sudden change to his future plans, Garret could only stutter his protestations.

"Uh, two objections, Sir."

"Name them."

"Firstly, half my school is underage. I refuse to send children into combat."

Thankfully, both Brynhild and Lukas nodded in agreement.

"Of course, I agree. The younger ones can remain in Fort Estlev, if you wish, I wouldn't dream of using child-soldiers in my brigades."

"Thank you, sir."

"And the other?"

At Brynhild's inquiry, Garret glanced to the empty space on his robes, where he would have affixed a rank insignia.

"Well, I'm… not an officer anymore."

"Aren't you?"

He could have sworn he saw Brynhild smirk as she made that coy remark. Before he could answer, Lukas reached into the pocket of his blue-gold dress uniform, and produced a pair of rank insignias. Sliding them across the table, Brynhild confirmed exactly what was happening.

"Consider yourself reinstated, Captain."

"Thank you, Ma'am, … but are you sure?"

"We've heard the reasons for your expulsion, and while I can't approve of what you did, I think you've long atoned for it. … And I don't think stopping wanton cruelty or 'maintaining communications', deserves the punishment you got."

Even hundreds of miles away, it seemed Lukas had seen through his lie.

"If nothing else, your subsequent actions have proven you're not a liability… but be careful. You know as well as anyone, the dangers of consorting with monsters."

Brynhild too, though she was less supportive.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then that's all. Make whatever arrangements you need, but be quick about it. As part of your new assignment, you'll be working closely with us to organize the crusade. And we can use all the help we can get. Dismissed."

At Lukas' words, Garret stood up, saluted, and marched out of the room. He had a lot of work to do, and a lot of letters to send. Maybe he could call in a favour from a certain harpy to help with the latter…

"Welcome to 'The Crusader's Blade'! What can I do for you?"

Having stumbled into the first inn he could find, Garret was greeted by a brown-haired and colourfully dressed innkeeper. Indeed, her ornate, red-blue outfit was almost too colourful for her surroundings, more suited to a performer than the owner of an inn. Her sparkling-gold wedding band looked similarly out of place, as most servers tended to hide their marital status.

"I need a room for a few nights… and a good meal."

It would take a while for a place to be arranged in the officer's quarter, so Garret needed lodgings until then. Though he cringed at the name, the plain but well-kept establishment seemed to fit the bill – even if it was a bit dark, and the wall-mounted swords and armour, somewhat tacky in décor.

"Sure! You're lucky you came when you did, dinner's going to be especially good tonight. We got a deal on some meat, so we'll be making a roast. As for lodgings, a single room costs…"

The woman paused, then leaned forward, scrutinizing his appearance.

"Wait a second, don't I know you from somewhere…? Garret!"

"Aisha?"

Having barely recognized her, Garret was nearly knocked over as she greeted him with an enthusiastic hug.

"Eric, come quick! Look who showed up!"

When the blonde man, dressed in much plainer clothes and sporting a cook's apron, poked his head out of the kitchen, he broke into a wide grin.

"Ay, look who it is! The military man, himself."

Correcting that comment, Garret returned their greetings with similar happiness.

"Hey, I've spent more time as a teacher than commanding soldiers. It's good to see you, Eric. You too, Aisha."

The two men exchanged a handshake and a few moments later, the trio of old war-buddies found themselves seated at a table, chatting.

"So what brings you to Seigfried's Landing?"

"Military orders. I've gotta bring my senior students here and start working them into a proper unit."

"Sounds like you're getting pretty high up in the ranks."

"I made 'Captain', the year before last."

Eric whistled, impressed.

"Damn, your own school, and an officer. You're doing well for yourself."

"I manage. You two seem to be doing alright as well. You've got a nice inn here, though tell me, did you ever make good on your threat to brew your own alcohol?"

"You know it! Here, why don't I let you try some…"

Eric disappeared into the kitchen, and a few minutes later, returned with some surprisingly pleasant-tasting mugs of ale. From there, they fell into the comfortable, casual of conversation, typical of distant friends catching up. When Garret directed the topic back towards him renting a room for the night, though, said friendship paid further dividends. Eric and Aisha, simultaneously, rejected any attempts by him to pay, insisting that his stay would be 'on the house'.

Grateful for the hospitality, Garret made sure to offer his assistance wherever he could. Even when his hosts insisted there was no need, he lit fires, washed dishes, and (temporarily) acted as a server when Aisha took to the center of the room, midway through dinner, to entertain the guests with songs and stories. Despite being an innkeeper, she'd managed to find a use for her spellsinger skills after all.

And that was how things went. For the next few days, while he was getting his permanent lodgings settled, he stayed with Eric and Aisha. Those evenings, filled with laughter, brought back nostalgic memories of the days of old.

Though he eventually moved into a proper set of officer's quarters, Garret often found himself returning for dinner with his old friends. As that wonderful feeling of camaraderie returned, he clung to it and the people providing it. Two old friends he wanted to protect. Two more reasons to keep fighting.

On the topic of friendship, as Garret assisted Lukas and Brynhild, their working relationship slowly developed into one as well. As one of the first officers to be recruited for the organization of the crusade, he was often roped into helping the divinely blessed soldiers with their reports and logistics.

Working closely like this, long into the evenings, Lukas' warm (but still detached) professionalism loosened up, and Brynhild's stern demeanor thawed a bit. As guards were lowered all around, and the occasional social hour got them talking, Garret began to notice new aspects of their relationship he hadn't before.

A brush on the shoulder here, sitting a bit closer than necessary there, noticing stress and suggesting they take a break… in private with her hero, Brynhild proved more affectionate than Garret had thought possible.

And Lukas, though he'd always seemed relatively friendly, reciprocated with his own gestures. Smiles of affirmation, the occasional compliment (seemingly out of nowhere), him working extra hours to ease his Valkyrie's workload… it didn't take long for Garret to realize they were paired in more than military matters.

"You know, most soldiers talk about how lucky they are to have found their partners, but I think you've got them beat by a fair margin."

One night, when after-work drinks had loosened the two men's tongues, and Brynhild had left the room, Garret brought the topic up.

"You're talking about Bryn?"

"No, your other Valkyrie."

Lukas cracked a smile and nodded.

"I am fortunate to have her… and I'd like to think she'd say the same about me, despite our arguments."

"Disagreements about leadership?"

Lukas nodded as he took another swig of ale.

"Something like that. She's brave and brilliant and and gets the job done, no matter the cost… but sometimes I feel that 'cost' weighs on her far too little. These are people we're leading. Men and women with their own lives, hopes and dreams. Sometimes I wish she'd be a little less ruthless in her execution of our Goddess' commands…"

"She does seem pretty detached."

"Well you have to keep some distance. When you're a leader, no matter what, people under you are going to die. If you don't, you'll-"

Memories of his transformed student flicked through Garret's mind. He already knew the reasoning all too well.

"Yeah. I know."

"Right, sorry… I still keep thinking of you as a squad leader, but you've been an officer for a while now. Either way, Brynhild keeps that distance, but far too much of one, I think. Sometimes I wonder, would she feel anything if the entire crusade was lost?"

He paused and glanced at the door she'd left through, then gazed into his drink.

"I still don't have an answer."

"A Valkyrie is probably on another level from an officer. She's had to help other crusades in the past, right? That's probably the reason for that."

"Maybe,… maybe."

Trying to lighten the mood he'd unintentionally darkened, Garret brought up a positive.

"At least you've got each other."

That elicited a half-smile from Lukas, who stared off into the distance, falling silent for a moment.

"Maybe…"

The sound of doors opening caused the two men to start. Brynhild had returned.

"Talking about me?"

Knowing better than to lie, Lukas nodded, sheepishly.

"A bit. How much did you hear?"

"All of it."

She let that statement stand for a moment, causing them to sweat a little, before quickly following it with a smile, as she took her seat, brushing against Lukas again as she did.

"Don't worry, I'm not intolerant of criticism. So long as you're complaining about me and not our Goddess, I don't mind."

Well at least there was that. Given the time she'd been gone, though, Garret wondered just how sensitive her hearing was. She'd probably give Rick a run for his money, should they compare their uncanny abilities to overhear things.

"That was about the end of the criticism, anyways. We should move on to happier topics."

Garret nodded in agreement with Lukas' suggestion, and for the rest of the evening, the matter was dropped.

"Standby! … Cast!"

The crackle of spells and splintering of targets punctuated the air as a line of Garret's students opened fire on mamono effigies.

Pacing behind them, Mage-Sergeant Gallant, one of Garret's more reliable NCOs, kept watch, shouted orders, and offered corrections to anyone he spotted making a mistake. Behind him stood Garret, watching the watchman. Normally he'd have his arms crossed behind his back, observing, and giving orders to Gallant, to be passed to the formation, but at present, he had a letter to read.

"A week's delay… must have been the storms. That'll complicate things, but we should still make our timings."

Muttering to himself as he read the status of their yet-to-arrive wizards, Garret mentally rearranged the training schedule to accommodate the foreigner's arrivals. Then he scribbled a quick acknowledgment, and turned to face his friendly messenger-bird.

"At least the news came fast."

With a disinterested voice, Garret made that off-handed comment. He couldn't praise Loria. Not in public, and especially, not in front of his troops. When no one was looking, though, he could give her a nod and a warm smile, showing his appreciation for her speed.

"Here's my reply, get back out there and give it to them. Now."

While his words were harsh, Loria had played his game long enough to ignore them. Instead, she focused on his smile and knew that, though he had to hide it, he did appreciate her efforts. Without a word, the harpy saluted and launched herself into the air. Another day, another message. She'd been putting a lot of work in, lately, but if it was for the man she loved, she'd give it all she had.

"Standby!… Cast!"

A particularly loud splintering followed, and Garret looked up to see one sorceress had either hit a weak point or focused a particularly powerful spell, demolishing her target with a single blast. After checking to see that the woman hadn't succeeded through brute force, and wasn't slumping from lack of energy, Garret raised his voice and offered a rare word of praise.

"Excellent work, Foster. Keep that focus up, and you'll be terror on the battlefield."

The sorceress smiled, nodded, and then (when the spells had ceased) moved to set up a new target with renewed enthusiasm.

"Your students are performing well. I see our faith in you was not misplaced, Captain."

A refined voice sounded from behind him, and Garret looked over his shoulder to see Morgan striding towards him, through the snow. As expected, she was clad in her usual, fine clothes, though he spotted the tell-tale signs of her current task. A satchel and set of extra bags tied to her waist indicated she was not here for pleasure.

"Thank you, my Lady!"

Though initially stiff, after the two had greeted each other, the formalities dropped away, and they began to converse in a more familiar manner.

"What brings you here, Morgan? You look like you're heading out on an expedition."

"I am."

"Another salvage mission?"

The royal magician shook her head.

"No, it's about our research…"

She glanced at the soldiers and sorcerers milling about the training ground, then took a step closer.

"Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk somewhere a bit more private."

Looking back at his students, Garret nodded. They'd be training for a while longer – a task his NCO could handle.

"Gallant! Keep them running drills, I'll be back in a moment."

The sergeant saluted with an acknowledgement, which Garret returned, and then he began to walk. Le Blanc's path lead them out of the training grounds, and through isolated, back alleys, away from the general population. It didn't take long for them to escape the crowds of civilians, and once he was confident they wouldn't be overheard, Garret brought up the topic of her visit.

"I thought we'd put that research on hold?"

"We did, but I devoted the several spare evenings to it, none the less… It seems I've developed something of a fixation on it."

"Did you figure out what's wrong with the spell?"

At his question, le Blanc let out a long sigh and, with an expression that betrayed a mixture of resignation and perplexion, spoke much less formally than usual.

"That's the thing, Garret… I don't think the spell is incorrect. I've gone over the formulae a multitude of times, if there was something wrong, I would have found it by now."

Like the many times before, Garret flicked a finger up and broached the problem they'd always come back to.

"It's still producing absurd numbers, though."

"But only for ruins we don't know the history of. For ones that we do, its results are accurate. "

Again, came the usual rebuttal. Instead of arguing it, though, this time Garret joined Morgan in her resigned, confusion.

"Do we have anything new to add to this, or are we just going around in circles again?"

At this, Morgan shrugged and shook her head, not in denial, but in disbelief at what she was about to say.

"The only thing that breaks this circle, is if the spell is actually right. If the ruins really are that old, that's the only explanation that fits."

That answer had its own share of problems, though, one of which Garret brought up. This elicited an even more resigned, borderline exhausted sigh from Morgan, and another discussion about impossibilities.

"That would mean the war is also thousands of years old, but we've only been fighting monsters for a couple hundred years, at most."

"I… I don't know. I just don't know. It's the only answer that makes sense… Maybe we misinterpreted things, and the 'war' was in a different form back then? Or maybe some long-lost cataclysm destroyed our records? Or-"

"You do know how absurd that sounds, right? We're talking about every single person in The Order having collective amnesia, or just 'forgetting' to make records about such an event."

"I know, but… Nothing else could answer this. It just doesn't make sense."

Things not making sense was a given. If they did, they'd have solved this mystery long ago. … But as Garret recalled the things he'd heard, Morgan's hypothesis started to sound uncomfortably plausible.

Monsters who lived for hundreds of years claiming their crusade was doomed, Naton having lost its records when it was first settled by refugees. Northreach's similar situation, and the artifacts in the mine implying an ancient war against the mamono…

Still, despite a few anomalies, the number of unlucky coincidences, disasters, and total defeats required for every historical record to be lost, to say nothing of their survivors, was so massive it approached the impossible. There was no way every. single. record. could have disappeared… right?

"Will you help me with this, Garret? I could use another hand on my expedition."

Le Blanc's question brought him back to reality, but his answer was not what she was looking for.

"Sorry, Morgan. I would if I could, but I can't abandon my duties to our new crusade, and my school. Not when we're right in the midst of organizing."

Though she looked disappointed, Morgan didn't try to pull rank, and her eyes, though saddened, spoke of understanding.

"No, it's fine. In that case, I shall give you this."

Instead, she handed him a small, blue gemstone, engraved with Tilia's crest.

"It's enchanted with a rougher version of my spell. It should let you 'date' things you touch it against."

"Want me to gather more data, wherever The Order sends me?"

"Please. After I finish this expedition, I'll compile the entirety of our data into a report and disseminate it amongst my peers. If the war really is as old as this implies, we might be fighting it all wrong… and if it isn't, maybe they'll find a blind-spot in the research that we missed."

Of course, that brought the risk of espionage or assassination by other, competing mage organizations, but Morgan didn't seem bothered by that.

"Either way, I think it's worth the risk of competition. We haven't gotten anywhere on our own, we'll need help from the rest of The Order. … And if the worst comes to pass, you're the only other person who knows about that hidden compartment. I've already stored duplicates of our notes inside – you should be able to reproduce our research, if something happens."

"Hopefully it doesn't."

"Of course! It's just cautious prudence, that's all."

A magical clock was conjured with a wave of le Blanc's hand, and she glanced at it, then bid Garret farewell.

"Our time is up. I must be moving again, and you should return to your students. Thank you for your time, Garret."

"No problem, Morgan. Good luck with your expedition."

"And likewise for you, as well as your students."

With that, they split up, and Garret began to head back to the training grounds. As he walked, though, he spotted a familiar face. Brynhild, no doubt on some errand or other, strode through the street, the crowd parting before her like water. Said face was twisted into a distasteful expression, seemingly pondering something unpleasant.

As he walked by her, though, the two locked eyes. For a moment, Garret could have sworn he saw anguish written in her eyes, but in a heartbeat, the distress had disappeared, replaced with her usual, stoic expression. She gave a curt nod in greeting, before continuing on her way.

"I mean I do love her. We've been through so much, side-by-side, it'd be more remarkable for a human not to feel this way."

Later that night, Lukas and Garret met for drinks alone, with Brynhild having been called elsewhere for work. Of course, alcohol loosened lips, and it didn't take long for them to stumble back onto that troubling subject. Doubly so, when the secluded booth they'd sat themselves in offered enough privacy to avoid being overheard by 'The Crusader's Blade's other patrons.

"And only a human? You sound like you have doubts about her. Do you think Brynhild is just acting?"

Lukas shrugged.

"Well… Maybe. It might be easier for her, given her duty, if she was detached from me as well as the crusade."

"You mean her place as an advisor?"

Eyes shifted to his glass as a dark look crept across Lukas' face.

"No... Tell me, Garret, do you know why heroes are paired with Valkyrie or Angels?"

"To guide you?"

"Yes, officially she's here to offer teaching and guidance, but there's a secondary reason… What do you think would happen if I was corrupted or joined the monsters?"

That was something Garret shuddered to think about. The power demonic energy gave, mixed with the holy power their Goddess had granted… He'd likely be able to annihilate the entire crusade.

"Nothing good."

"No… and someone even stronger would be needed to stop me, if I turned traitor."

He took a long sip from his ale, then stared Garret straight in the eye and paused a moment to deliver his deadly-serious statement.

"Brynhild is stronger than me."

The implication was impossible to ignore.

"I see…"

"Then you'll understand why I can't shake this feeling she might be acting. Given her role as an executioner, she might never let herself truly be close to anyone."

"Lady le Blanc! There's someone up ahead of us."

When the caravan's chief guard called to her, Morgan set down her pen, and emerged from the rear of her covered wagon. Standing beside the man, who handed her his spyglass, she balanced herself against the rocking of the carriage and focused it on the source of the alert.

Not just 'someone', the divine radiance emanating from the blue-gold armoured woman in the road made identification incredibly easy. As wings appeared and lifted the stranger off the ground, the court magician was left scratching her head. They were dozens of miles from the nearest city, and there weren't any military operations in the area.

It was so strange… What was a Valkyrie doing here?

Author's Notes: Well that was one hell of a wait, wasn't it? For that, I can only apologize – my life seems to have a habit of exploding, whenever I plan on sitting down to write. I've made dozens of these apologies, and probably will make a dozen more. Trust me when I say the delays are not because I've lost interest in writing, and this story will eventually reach its conclusion.

Ok, on to the chapter's notes. We're finally reaching the end of the setup for Act 3, and hopefully I'll be justified in its long-windedness. There is a purpose for everything I wrote, but maybe I could have condensed things down a bit. Hopefully it becomes clear why I took the time to go over the things I did, once we get into the next few chapters, and the callbacks start to appear.

I'd love to discuss the specifics of what I planned for these links to the future, but since they could still change a little, I think I should hold back until they reach their individual 'conclusions'. At least for one of them, though, it should be more than obvious where I plan on taking things, based on how I ended this chapter. Sorry, I guess this particular set of author's notes are a little pointless.

With nothing else to write, I can at least take the time to thank everyone who stuck around after that four-month hiatus. Seriously. I know lots of people fall off when updates are infrequent, but for those of you still around, I appreciate you. Thanks for giving me a reason to stay motivated to write, in the face of life's bullshit.

I guess we'll call it there.

Until next time, Sayonara!